le monstre de beauté
by kathleenfergie
Summary: Christine lifted one of her hands up to his mask, and her eyes bore into his, a silent question of may I? Erik nodded, allowing her to lift the white façade away. She then took one of Gustave's hands and guided it to the deformed half of Erik's face. 'What do you feel that is ugly, my darling? Nothing. He's beautiful, just like you and I.' Oneshot. Finale scene.


'_Christine? Christine! It's always Christine!'_

He heard the gunshot, but the pain never came. In front of him had been Meg Giry, but she ran and collapsed into he mother's arms after the gun sounded. Only, from behind he heard a small gasp. Erik turned in time to see Christine grasp the loose railing, which gave way under her, causing her to fall against the hard boardwalk. He ran to her, kneeling and clutching her body against his, a hand pressed forcefully against the hole in her bodice, blood flowing freely between his fingers. She was gasping; both for air, and because of the pain. The shock of the situation made it hard for her lungs to work, and her chest contracted in short breaths. Erik heard whimpers beside him, and found Gustave on the ground as well, weeping for his dying mother.

_My son. Oh, Christine._

Erik held Christine against him, hugging her tightly, as if that would keep her from dying. He kept gazing in between her and Gustave, blinking away tears that threatened to flood his eyes. At this moment, Christine was speaking quietly to Gustave, hushing him, an attempt to soothe him, as her breathing hitched and her face showed the obvious signs of pain. Through his dazed thoughts, Erik could hear the boy say something about de Chagny—his father.

'Gustave, your father—your _real _father—he's right here.' Christine said to him, touching his small face, wet with tears.

'No. _No! _No, he can't be!' The boy protested, pushing away from Erik and Christine.

'Gustave!' She said, weakly holding onto his limbs, attempting to bring him close once more. Her voice was husky now, her muscles weakening quickly. 'Gustave, you mustn't be afraid. Your father, he loves you very much. Gustave, don't you remember what I told you? Do not look with your eyes, but with your heart. Trust me, Gustave, close your eyes.' Erik was confused by her actions, and he didn't expect what came next. Christine lifted one of her hands up to his mask, and her eyes bore into his, a silent question of _may I?_ Erik nodded, allowing her to lift the white façade away. She then took one of Gustave's hands and guided it to the deformed half of Erik's face. 'What do you feel that is ugly, my darling? Nothing. He's beautiful, just like you and I.' Christine grasped the boy's other hand and set it against her own face. 'We are all the same, Gustave. All so very beautiful and full of love.'

Gustave opened his eyes, and gazed upon Erik's deformities. There was fright in his eyes, but he did not pull his hand away. Erik lifted the hand that was not covered in Christine's blood, and touched _his son_'s face. The boy's soft skin met Erik's calloused, yet gentle, hands, and those hands wiped away the tears that ran down Gustave's face. _I love you_, he said with his eyes, and the boy understood. Gustave broke the connection, and collapsed against his mother's skirts, sobbing loudly.

Erik once again looked down at Christine, who he could see was fighting to stay conscious. '_Christine_… Christine, I love you.' He said quietly, for fear of his voice cracking. With the little strength she had, she smiled.

'I love you, Erik. Sing something for me, please. Anything.' She asked, her lids fluttering. Erik obliged, opening his mouth. He sang one of the many songs he had composed for her in those days at the opera house, but he found himself unable to finish, his voice dying. _You alone can make my song take wing..._ She brought a weak hand to his lips, her fingers lightly brushing them. 'Kiss me, please, one last time.'

Erik lowered his lips to hers, and he kissed her with all the love he had kept inside for ten long years. Christine's hands were wrapped around his forearm as he embraced her, holding her around the shoulders tightly, and he did not lessen his tight hold until he felt her lips and body go slack. Erik pulled away and looked at Christine's face; her eyes closed and her cheeks stained with tears. He let his own tears drip down his cheeks, and they fell onto her face. Sobs wracked his body as he held her against his chest, rocking her back and forth.

Gustave looked up and saw his mother's relaxed body, and he let out a pained cry. Erik simply linked his arm around the boy and held him, like he did Christine. He kissed their son's forehead gently and sobbed.

_Our son._

He heard steps and turned his head, finding himself staring into the eyes of Raoul de Chagny. His eyes held both sadness and hate, but Erik did not care. Erik slowly stood, keeping hold of Christine, and then he was placing her in the arms of her husband. He stood fully, and somberly walked to where the boardwalk met the sea, the cold water swirling below him. The deep blue sea was crashing against the metal of the boardwalk, and the sound was beckoning him. Erik looked into its depths and contemplated so many choices. He then collapsed to his knees, tears dripping down to mix with the raging waters. Erik let out vicious sobs for his one love, his angel of music.

_Oh, Christine._

Erik felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and he turned his body, his eyes meeting Gustave's. On his knees they were eye to eye, and Erik was speechless in front of the small boy. He cast his head down towards the wood of the boardwalk, ashamed. This boy should not want to speak to him, he was a monstrosity and he was the reason the boy's mother was dead. He tried to speak, and found his throat catching.

'I'm sorry.' He said, at last, to the boy. 'I'm so sorry.'

Hands came up towards his face, still unmasked, and Gustave brought Erik's eyes to his. The boy said no words; he simply placed a kiss on the forehead of his father. When he pulled away, he used his index finger to trace the raised veins of Erik's face. Erik could see the deep pensiveness in the small boy's eyes. It seemed as he too struggled with his words.

'I'm looking through my heart, monsieur. I see it,' Gustave said, 'the beauty, father. The beauty underneath.'

It was then that Erik's long arms wrapped around the boy, bringing him into a tight embrace. That was how they stayed for some time; father and son clutching each other silently, tears running down their faces.


End file.
